Tears, Thunder, and Other Natural Disasters

My boots sloshed through the rain as I trudged around the little neighborhood park. This was my third lap with only two more to go before I reached my mile goal and could retreat back to my warm apartment.

A tuft of gray fur appeared out of the corner of my eye and as I turned to see what it was, a little rabbit swam by me. It paused to look at me and then continued doggy-paddling to the nearest tree. My heart shattered. Lately, the rain had been so heavy the sidewalks were flooded.

"Poor thing must be exhausted," I sniffled, watching the soggy little guy attempting to brush the water off his coat. My daily mental health walk was supposed to make me feel better, but today it just made me even more sad.

Ever since Jason dumped me I hadn’t been able to stop crying, and as it turned out, my tears had real-life consequences. Some people drown their sorrows. I was drowning local wildlife.

It was official. I was a monster.

The breakup wasn’t the real reason I was so uncontrollable, it was just the final straw on an already tumultuous few months.

It was Mom.

The strained smiles and hushed whispers, and the way the sunshine seemed to dim the moment the doctor spoke those words. That was the real trigger. Jason was just a great distraction, and someone who could genuinely make me laugh. And now that was gone and I was forced to face my feelings head on.

He tried to make the breakup as easy as possible by taking me to my favorite ice cream shop.

”It’s not you,” he promised. “We just…want different things out of life.”

Even though I wholeheartedly agreed, I was still sad. I put on a brave face, but as soon as I was alone everything unraveled. The tears flowed so hard I paced around the halls of my apartment with an entire roll of toilet paper. All the pain, sadness, and frustration I’d been bottling for months rolled down my cheeks and for the first time I let myself feel every emotion.

That was when my powers started.

Later that night, a raging thunderstorm rolled in. I thought it was dramatically fitting and watched the rain lash against the glass windows. Lightning bolts struck suspiciously close whenever I spiraled into thoughts about hospital rooms and the future.

At first I chalked it up to coincidence. But a week passed and the weather was still oddly mirroring my inner turmoil. For the next few days I was still a bucket of tears, and the neighborhood was punished with torrential downpours. When the crying subsided, a hazy mist lingered in the air. And then back to showers.

I brought up the correlation to my therapist who looked at me like I had grown a second head. He sat in silence for a moment, probably debating whether he should write me a prescription or call the hospital, and then he ultimately decided I had to walk one mile every day, outside.

"Treadmills are for the emotionally stable," he'd droned.

So now I was trudging along on my final lap, lamenting the rabbit and my own pathetic existence.

“Get it together, Ellie,” I muttered, attempting to blink rapidly and shove the emotions deep down like a normal, repressed adult.

It did not work. I could feel the next emotional wave coming on, this time about the poor animals. If I didn’t do something soon, I was going to trigger full-blown monsoon conditions.

A gust of wind blasted me backward, and I nearly lost a boot to the waters.

I clenched my fists. “Oh, COME ON!” I shouted at the sky, which responded with an aggressive crack of thunder. Mother nature had a twisted sense of humor.

I had to stop this. I had to control the weather, which meant I had to control me. Mile completed, I rushed home and texted my best friend Marissa. She would know what to do.

ME: I need an emergency distraction before I cry and sink the entire city.

MARISSA: Mom stuff?

ME: No this time it’s a rabbit.

MARISSA: …what??

ME: A rabbit SWAM by me today. Do you understand what that means?!

MARISSA: That your tears are causing biblical flooding and you need an emotional intervention?

ME: …exactly.

MARISSA: I’m on my way. I’ll bring the kayak!

Thirty minutes later Marissa showed up in full rain gear, armed with an umbrella big enough to shield a family of five. The moment I saw her, I burst into fresh tears.

Thunder struck and giant raindrops bounced off the sidewalk before they rolled into the street.

She sighed. “Alright, nope, I refuse to be part of a natural disaster today. We’re fixing this.”

She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the kitchen.

"Listen," she said, wringing out her raincoat. "You’ve got to get control of this. If you’re gonna cry, you need to at least make it a manageable drizzle.”

I sniffled. “I can’t just turn off grief.”

“"We're not turning it off," she said, rummaging through the cabinets. "We're re-channeling it. Think of it like… using your powers for good instead of evil."

“How?”

Her face lit up as she discovered a pack of Oreos. She handed me one with care, as if this cookie had magical powers that would heal me. “Eat this and tell me one good thing that happened today.”

I obediently took the Oreo and nibbled it. “I saw a squirrel wearing a tiny raincoat.”

She gasped. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “A lady in the neighborhood started making them for the little animals. She feels bad they’re getting soaked.”

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. “See? Something good can happen even in the middle of a bad situation.”

The wind died down slightly as I wiped my nose.

“Remember," she said, handing me another Oreo, “You’re the one responsible for your outlook.”

“You’re right.”

“I am right,” she said as she flashed me a goofy smile.

I let out a weak laugh. The rain softened into a light drizzle.

“That’s better,” Marissa said triumphantly.

Later that night, I sat curled up on my couch, wrapped in a blanket watching the rain outside. But for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t sobbing along with it.

The storm had calmed to a gentle drizzle, and honestly, so had I.

Marissa was right. I didn’t need to stop feeling things, I just needed to learn how to process them without spiraling into a disaster zone. I thought about the squirrel in the tiny raincoat and smiled. If a rodent in a poncho could handle a storm, then I could too.

Outside, the clouds lightened just a little.

The next few days were a learning curve. A pang of fear about Mom’s upcoming surgery caused a brief but terrifying hailstorm. And soon after, a wave of anger at my therapist’s condescending tone resulted in a heatwave that dried up all the rainwater. I was learning to manage my emotions. It would take some time, but fortunately the city wasn't underwater anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll figure out how to make it sunny again.